


Hansha

by arkalis (shigesho)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shigesho/pseuds/arkalis
Summary: About four things sum up the current life of Nakamoto Yuta:1. He is a twenty-year old university student desperately aiming for the entertainment industry.2. He has a persistent admirer whosekawaiilooks and smart brains just don't interest him.3. He has temper problems no one seems to detect beneath the harmless smile.4. He is in love with a reflection.
Relationships: Nakamoto Yuta/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I started on [AFF](https://www.asianfanfics.com/profile/view_author_stories/587387/L). I'm posting it here, too.

_Hansha._

You see, it shouldn’t be a shock that I encounter this character in Japanese reading comprehension.

_“Heh.”_

The voice makes the hairs along my nape stand. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m in the middle of an important exam, and forty or so students are digging their noses into their test papers like their lives depend on it, I would have screamed my rotten heart out.

I'd gotten my clearance signed at the last minute—supposedly to avoid having to take my exams in the main lecture halls where reflective surfaces are practically in every direction. Even felt quite lucky that my room assignment was one of the ancient rooms in the entire campus.

But who knew even the oldest classrooms have already been revamped, are now air-conditioned, equipped with state-of-the-art contraptions, and flaunting the latest flat screen TV at the center of the white board? I can’t even glance at it to check the time, lest I’ll be seeing her stupid face.

But that’s not the worst of my problems, no. With my incredible bad luck, I've been seated beside this chick whose painted nails and bloody lips shine brighter than the future of her completely abandoned test paper. And as if to seal the damned deal, she carries around a mirror, which also just so happens to be conveniently peeking out of her side pocket, and where the annoying voice comes from.

_“Very interesting, Nakamoto-san. Hansha. You're basically reading about me!”_

“Shut up.” A few students glance at my general direction. I ignore them. They can’t exactly trace the voice to me. After all, I’m universally seen as calm and collected.

 _“I can’t believe Nakamoto-san can still afford to be cranky on exam days.”_ There’s a hint of sulking in her voice. But it quickly disappears, concern replacing it. _“Your mood might seriously affect your performance, you know.”_

“Only if you don’t shut up!” My tone is only an angry whisper, but it’s already within the proctor’s earshot.

“Is everything all right over there?” Even he sounds unsure who to pinpoint for the nuisance.

I duck lower and scribble my answers more hastily. The faster I finish this cursed exam, the better.

_“Heh? Nakamoto-san, you’re incredibly fast! Never knew you were this smart. Unless… are you actually trying to show off?”_

Her laugh is a tiny peal. And I honestly don't know which frightens me more:

  1. the fact that a girl's reflection—a freakin reflection, for god's sake!—is talking to me; or
  2. the fact that I am also—heaven help my soul—talking to her.



* * *

_Chapter Notes:_

_hansha - Japanese word for reflection_


	2. Questions

Something must have gone wrong with my documents, because I'm pretty sure I did well—no, I am absolutely certain I was fantastic with my performance.

Why then?

I splash cold water onto my face, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. I can't do it. Not now. I'm too much of a failure to even look at my reflection. Besides, I hate to think there are two versions of me; the real one and the reflected one. They are both failures anyway.

Still… why? I’ve put in as much effort as I could, juggling between university and part-time. I’ve given up leisure in the name of passion. Don’t people always say no pain, no gain? Try and try and try until you succeed? How many more failures do I have to endure then? How much longer do I go on before the self-loathing finally consumes me?

Ah, if only I were afflicted with a different passion. If only I could bank my future on a more concrete, more secure path. Life on a platter from the get-go.

Or better yet, if only I were a different person.

A laugh gurgles out my throat. Low and bitter. That’s just it, isn’t it? If only I were a different, perhaps a simpler, less rotten person.

My fingers run through the metal rods overhead. The towel is dry and a little warm. I grab it and amble out of the washroom, desperately trying to keep the depression at bay. Trying and failing.

When I press my phone alit, three messages sit by my inbox. One is from my captain—there'll be a practice match tomorrow at five. I do a quick mental scan of my schedule for Friday. Damn, I have part-time from two 'til six. I delete his message and open the other two. They come from a single contact.

Makoto Shiori.

I don't even bother reading her mails. I chuck them immediately to the garbage bin. Most days she's tolerable. Not today.

The coat I put on is a little too thick for the humid afternoon, but I don't mind. Something tells me a deluge is coming. Early in the evening perhaps. Weather can sometimes be as shitty as a person's circumstances. One moment, you're all blue skies and sunshine. And then you're a dark heavenly canopy streaked with angry thunder and lightning.

My mood doesn't improve as I enter the coffee shop to two absentee shiftees. Ah, hell, could this day get any worse?

And then, of course, it does. Just five minutes into manning the cashier, Makoto walks in, flanked on either side by two of her… companions. I can't remember their names, though I'm having this funny feeling that one of them may have confessed to me before, while the other may or may not have asked for my contact at the start of term… I can only guess, but the way they're excessively tucking strands of hair behind their lobes tell me I'm not so far off the mark.

Huh. Guess the quirky, nothing-can-ruin-my-happy-spirits mask of me is still kinda intact—if I'm still attracting attention from clueless females, that is. But then again, no one will ever come close to the level of obsession this one girl has for me. The same girl who is now glaring with her lips pouted and her arms crossed over her chest.

I smile as widely as I can. "Hi, how may I help you today?"

"Yuta-kun, why aren't you replying to my emails?"

Two things make me cringe internally. One, she's still too impudent to call me by my first name when I don't ever recall having allowed her to address me intimately. And two, what makes her think I'm obligated to even entertain her worthless mails?

"Ah, sorry, Makoto-san. I'm working. I haven't checked my mails."

Her expression grows darker. "Don't lie, Yuta-kun. Your shift starts at two. I sent you messages at one. I know you've read them."

"I really haven't." I fake an apologetic grin. Got them, yes. Read them, nope. But she's not asking that question so I'm not lying. Yet.

She continues to glare. The queue gets longer. And my manager finally appears. Damn, if only I weren’t the only front liner.

"Nakamoto-san, is everything alright?" He's putting on a pleasant face, but I can tell the mental homicide is in progress. It takes one to know one. I doubt he sees right through me though. Some people are better pretenders than others.

I offer him the same apologetic smile. "Absolutely, Sir. Our pretty regular just can't seem to make up her mind yet."

It does the trick every time. Makoto's eyes brighten up, like a kid with a new shiny toy. She sighs, and finally orders the usual.

"I'll have your drinks in a while," I say, bowing a little before punching in her order and passing it to our barista. Makoto and her friends retreat to a corner.

I keep tabs on her as I tend to the other customers. Thirty minutes. Another twenty. It doesn't seem like she's leaving anytime soon, but her attention is no longer on me. She's stopped looking my way as soon as her order arrived. And she's had her nose buried into her books since.

The only thing I probably admire about Makoto is how she never neglects her studies. She's been at my tail since the beginning of middle school. We've barely stepped into our teenage year when she confessed to me on Valentine's. And it went on all throughout high school. I've heard she's gotten herself into a couple of catfights with her rivals, but it hasn't diminished her determination to win me. To top it all, my consistent rejection of her feelings never—not once—fazed her. And now, in our second year in university, she's still pining for me.

Despite all this, her academics remain exemplary. I am aware of my tendencies to be conceited, but I know better than to credit her good scholastic performance to her liking me.

A thought suddenly brews in my head. If she happens to unveil the real me, I wonder… would she still like me? If she as much as gets a glimpse of my rotten personality, would she still even glance my way? Will the revelation of a person's true character erode seven years of emotional investment?

I steer away from thoughts of her and her undying admiration of me, and focus on my dreary part-time. Not even the flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder awaken me from my desolation.

Well, at least I'm right about the weather being shitty.

* * *


	3. Attempts

My university football career hasn't gone the way I imagined it to be. I could not join when I was a first year as I still had a train to catch every afternoon. Home was a couple of stations away and I couldn't risk my parents waiting up on me.

I finally moved out when second year began. I tried for my college team and got accepted. But now I have to work part-time to pay off my apartment, depriving me yet again of regular practices and matches. Sometimes I end up wondering if the universe is somehow operating against my happiness.

But every other misfortune of mine pales to nothing with the gravity of my failure to get accepted into the company I've always been aiming for. Three applications. Three auditions. Three rejections. Three failures, with each succeeding one seemingly worse than the previous.

I stare at what would be my fourth application to TNT Entertainment. My documents, with only minimal changes from the others I've submitted, are all in order. The dance routine I've been rehearsing for months replays in my head, cemented there like a long-term memory I can never forget.

When I've done three or four rounds of mental practice, I plug in my earphones. There is only one song in my player. A minus one. The instrumental of the song I've mastered since a year ago when I started trying out for auditions. The melody, like my dance routine, is ingrained in my brain. I hum along.

In a few hours, I'll be stepping into one of the studios of one of TNT's buildings for my second attempt in barely half a year. I'll be lying if I say I'm not desperate. But I have always believed there is no such thing as desperation when it comes to chasing your dreams. After all, what's the point of the chase if you're not desperate to reach your goal?

My phone vibrates as I am stepping out of my apartment building. Almost instantly, I single out Makoto's identity.

And I am not disappointed. I swipe open the message.

_ "Yuta-kun! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶ I got two tickets for the premier night of Bakuman ＼(＾▽＾)／ You wanna come? (´｡• ω •｡`)" _

Bakuman? I loved the manga. I worshipped the anime. And I've been looking forward to its live action. But I didn't know it would be tonight. Makoto's invitation is tempting.

_ "I'm a little busy later. Maybe some other time. Thanks for inviting me though." _

I debate adding an emoticon. A decent smiley will have to do.

_ "Okay (｡╯︵╰｡) But the movie starts at seven so if you're free by then, just tell me and I'll wait for you, ne? Take care! (´,,•ω•,,)♡ " _

I have to chuckle at all the  _ kaomoji _ . I can almost see them on her face. And then I remember the audition and my amusement quickly evaporates. Damn these jitters.

In an attempt to calm my senses, I arrive at the appointed building two hours early. It's as sleek as I can remember; tinted glass walls all over and an immaculately white interior. The receiving hall is packed with other applicants. I can tell, because they're bringing the same set of documents placed inside the same designated folder as mine.

The receptionist acknowledges my arrival with a tiny nod. I bow before moving along. There are studios intended for rehearsals while waiting, just adjacent to where the actual auditions are being held. But I move deeper into the corridors and scan rooms with more privacy. I step inside a deserted one, only to be greeted by a woman slumped over an open grand piano, her back to me. Her fingers are splayed across the black and white keys. Whether she’s asleep or just simply resting, I don’t stay around to find out. The next room I enter isn’t empty, but it’s the only one with the least people so far, and the better option between the lone pianist in the other room.

Between dancing and singing, I find dancing safer to showcase among strangers. So I rehearse my routine, three rounds in total.

Truth be told, I only wanted to hear the rest of them sing first. When I am certain my voice is the most decent among the five of us inside the studio, I dock my phone to a free speaker and play the instrumental. I set the volume to moderate, just in case my conceit has gone overboard and I actually sound like a dying hyena.

I only do two rounds, fearing I’ll strain my voice by the time I perform actual. And then I undock my phone. My watch tells me I still have fifty minutes before my schedule. Well, fifty minutes to wait by the lobby then.

“You have a wonderful voice.”

My head snaps left. A girl in sweatpants and hoodie is smiling at me through the mirror. I can tell she’s in the middle of rehearsing her choreography. She heaves in a deep breath before finally facing me.

“You’ve got this audition in the bag with a voice and a groove like that.” She is not pretty, but she has a charm about her that makes her seem like she’s born for the stage.

“I hope so.” I manage a tiny smile. “You’re pretty good yourself.”

Her hands are instantly waving. “Oh, no, please. I wasn’t fishing for compliments. You weren’t even looking at anyone else.” She laughs. “I mean it. You have a voice to die for.”

What do I say to that? I’ve gotten used to all sorts of confessions—mostly because of my face—but to be complimented because of my talent, this is a first.

“Well, thank you.” I bow a little.

“Nah.” She turns again for the mirror, stretching, prepping for another round most likely. “You just have to work on your eye contact. I don’t think you’ve ever looked at yourself in the mirror the entire time you were practicing.”

Her observation unnerves me. I steal a glance of my reflection. And then I avert. “I guess…”

She only smiles in response, which is great because I finally have an excuse to dismiss myself.

“See you around.”

The jitters are returning as I cross the room in long strides. Something about the girl’s comment makes me glance at the mirror just before I’m completely out. My eyes meet their duplicate. I let it linger a split second longer, long enough to try to detect whatever is amiss.

On the mirror is a perfect clone. But something tells me my reflection is a completely different being.

* * *

_Chapter Notes:_

_ kaomoji – Japanese emoticon style _


	4. Phantom

The room I enter is spacious, its walls covered entirely with mirrors. A long mantled table stretches along one side, with four stern-looking people sitting behind. Two men, and two ladies, their gazes gleaming with ferocious intensity. The panel.

A fifth man of younger appearance hovers beside them and gestures for me to stand at the center. The same person has collected my songs just ten minutes earlier. He plays the first song now, bringing to life the immense speakers tucked away in every corner of the room, four in total.

Despite the initial shock, I fall into rhythm quite easily, gathering my bearings and pouring them out into the choreography I have mastered. At thirty seconds, during this particular tune, I am supposed to execute this routine. At fifty-five seconds, I demonstrate a specific point to my dance. The energy is rushing through me as I showcase to the impassive panel weeks and weeks of hard work. Barely two minutes into my performance, one of the ladies raises her hand.

I panic.

Did I mess up? Is she going to dismiss me without even listening to my vocal performance?

The same lady taps her chin with the eraser end of her pencil. "Nakamoto Yuta, right?"

"Y-yes." I bow, catching my breath.

A collective sigh passes over the rest of the panel. They exchange looks.

_ Shit. _

"Well," says the lady who raised her hand. "We've seen your moves, Nakamoto-san. Most of us, at least." She gestures to her fellows. I nod, even though I don't find any of their faces familiar. "Frankly speaking, your performance today, while it isn't entirely mediocre, I don't think much has… improved from—what, one or two performances ago?"

So she really has seen my other auditions. My throat goes dry. Is this going to be another failure? Are they not going to even give me a chance to sing?

Before I can plead, the rightmost panelist, a bespectacled man with stocky arms, instructs the fifth man to play the second song.

The minus-one. He is granting me a shot at singing.

Elated, I clear my throat. It's now or never. It's now or never. It's now or never.  _ Damn, it really is now or never. _ In all my auditions, this is the first time one of the panelists has interrupted my dance performance. And to be honest, she could have said,  _ Hello there again, Nakamoto Yuta. Isn't this your nth audition already? Sorry, but you're still not gonna make it _ , and I don't think it would have made a difference.

Shrugging off my negative thoughts, I hit the first note perfectly. And then I flow through the first verse, my voice so much steadier than I would've imagined. As I gain confidence, I sing through the refrain and towards the bridge without a single mishap. The notes raise higher as I approach the coda, and again, I hit them with startling precision. Even I am surprised by my own performance.

As I reach the end, I don't know which pair of limbs is shaking more—my legs or my arms. My fists ball at my sides. The panel is busy scribbling on their sheets.

And then I see it.

A phantom. White dress and long black hair. Pale legs and arms. Dark, deep-set eyes. Hovering at the upper right corner of the mirror behind the panelists. Floating like a goddamn ghost.

I only realize how badly I must have been staring when the fifth man clears his throat. And then I clamp my mouth shut—my lower jaw has dropped to the floor. When reality sinks, I almost cry.

I lost my voice somewhere towards the end. My voice died on me.  _ It died _ . Literally. Drowned in terror. I can’t fully register the stunned faces of the panelists. The phantom is still there, so tangible in my peripheral that I am tempted to scream at the rest of the people in the room and demand why the hell they’re not panicking.

“Nakamoto-san, is everything all right?”

I part my lips to speak, shut them again, swallow twice, test my voice. It has completely deserted me. I swallow again, until I manage a croaky, “Yes.”

“Thank you for today,” says the bespectacled man suddenly, as if he’s hurrying to dismiss me.

I linger in place. Did I make it? Am I finally going to get accepted?

To answer my confusion, the fifth man ushers me out the exit and tells me to wait for a phone call from the company. I am about to ask when I should be expecting the call but he has already latched the door shut to my face.

I rub my eye sockets as I amble through the corridor. What the hell did I just see? I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I’m not exactly the religious type, and I’ve never believed in ghosts. But whatever it was, it was truly terrifying. And it has certainly stripped me of whatever confidence I’ve mustered and ruined what would have been a flawless vocal performance.

“Hey, are you alright? You look so pale.”

Startled, I take two steps back to behold the lady before me. The same girl I’ve met in the practice room earlier. I don’t think I got her name so I say, “Yes, thank you.”

She heaves a nervous breath. “Must be so unnerving, huh?”

“Nakamoto Yuta.” I offer my hand and bow a little. “Pleased to meet you.”

Her brows twitch as she grasps my hand. Her smooth, dry skin suddenly makes me conscious of my clammy, trembling palm. Before she can introduce herself, the door a few feet behind swings open and out comes the fifth man, beckoning her to step inside. The girl mouths me an apology, bows, and hurriedly scurries after the fifth man.

“Good luck.”

The crisp evening I step into leaves me more dejected than terrified. Slowly, my performances trickle back in my head. If they don’t think I did well enough in dancing, my singing should more than compensate for it.

I kick a pebble on the pavement. “If not for that goddamn—”

But what was it exactly? A ghost? A reflection? A lost soul seeking to be freed?  _ What the hell, man. _

Makoto emails me again at five minutes to seven, urging me to come. But I am already headed home. Besides, I don’t think I can live through two more hours of this day.

I slam the door to my apartment shut. I shrug off my coat and kick off my shoes. My stomach is grumbling but I am too upset to entertain it.

“Besides,” I say as I strip down to my boxers and eye my navel on the mirror attached to my closet, “if I die, you die with me.” I don’t know why talking to my stomach seems to uplift my mood. I tap it once before pulling open the closet door and grab a random white shirt.

_ “What an interesting fella.” _

I stumble back on my heels faster than I can draw in a breath.

_ “Although I admit, it would be a waste if you die—you have perfectly lined abs, just saying.” _

My pulse is up my throat and hammering against my eardrums. I pull my shirt over my arms and head, frantically searching for the voice.

_ “Sorry I startled you earlier. You’re a great dancer, by the way. Two thumbs up.” _

“Shut up!” I’m not losing my wits, am I? “Where the hell are you?”

The voice laughs.  _ It laughs! Shit. _

_ “Not telling.” _

Remembering the sloppy moves I’ve learned in Karate, I position myself before my bedroom door. And then I recall the phantom earlier. I recall it hovering aboveground. I recall it… Could it be?

Carefully, cautiously, as though my life depends on it, I circle back to my closet. One door is still agape. I curl my fingers over the edge, shaking. The creaking sound makes the hair along my nape stand on end. Finally, I latch it close. And there, on the mirror, smiles the phantom.

* * *


	5. Diversion

I shouldn’t have resorted to taking advantage of Makoto. I don’t particularly consider myself chivalrous, but I do supposedly know better than to pluck a girl out from a movie house in the premier night of a film she’s been anticipating for months. Supposedly.

What makes it worse is that even as I see her sprinting towards me from the other side of the street—her cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled, toes nearly tripping over in her haste—I am still tempted to just cancel this… whatever the hell this impromptu appointment is, and call it a night.

The worst yet is that even when I don't offer her anything as we finally meet face to face, she's still the one fussing over my condition, like it's her fault that I suddenly called her out barely minutes into the movie.

"Yuta-kun?" She clutches her chest to catch her breath, all the while studying my face. "Are you alright?"

Just what the hell does she see in me?

"Uh," I scratch my head. I can't exactly tell her some spooky phantom chased me out of my apartment. But whether that was my hallucination or not, I didn't bother staying around to confirm. I just need an hour or two of fresh air. I am reminded again of her interrupted movie. "Sorry, I dragged you out."

Her lips twist. She's not convinced of my apology. Damn, I'm usually a flawless liar.

"My heater broke," I say with a sigh, getting into the art of deception more naturally. "And it's a little too late to contact my landlady. She hates evening calls. I contacted Shiro but he's still at work, won't be out until eleven later."

"Shiro? Aoi-kun?” I nod. Is she chummy with everybody or is she just overly confident? “Are you staying over at his place tonight?"

I shrug. "Guess so."

"Heh." Her brows raise in thought. "This is the first time you've ever called me out, Yuta-kun."

"Well, I…” Another shrug.

"I don't hate it, of course." She grins as she loops an arm through mine. "I could invite you over to my place right now, but I'm still a girl and you're still a boy."

I snort. "Don't you think I'm the one in danger if I come over to your place?"

"So mean." Her pout is cute. Why am I not dating her again? When she's unconditionally head over heels with me? "Ne, Yuta-kun, where would you like to go?"

"Convenience store." I lead the way, but she stays rooted in place.

"No," she says firmly. And then she tows me towards the opposite direction. "A coffee shop would be more romantic, don't you think? Let's go."

Truly, Makoto's enthusiasm is astonishing. I don't know if it has anything to do with her admiration towards me, but even as I imagine being with someone I like, I don't think I can keep talking for more than fifteen minutes without any sort of prodding from the other party.

The coffee shop we are settled in is mostly deserted. Apart from us, two other pupils poring over books by the corner, and the barista manning the counter, there is no one else around. It’s a wonder this isn’t too frequented. Even I get suffocated by the number of customers we get in the coffee shop I work in, which is just a couple of blocks away. Perhaps I can try applying here. If the price is right, perhaps.

As I look at Makoto, I realize she pays little attention to her surroundings. Even so, she must like the quiet in this cafe. Makes me wonder if she only stays in the other, more crowded shop because I work there. The more she plunges into the conversation, the more convinced I am of the thought. Her hands are animated, waving here and there as she recalls circumstances I don’t give a damn about.

I let her babble on for as long as she likes, nodding at the right moments, grunting on occasion, even offering a few chuckles, when in truth, none of her words register.

This is fine, I think. I'm not forcing anything on her. She said it herself, that she doesn't dislike it. Judging by the twinkle in her eyes, she might even be grateful that I pulled her out from the movie house. She seems to enjoy my presence more than anything else, as far as I can tell.

"Yuta-kun."

I focus my eyes. "Hm?"

The air around her changes, and she's suddenly reserved. Her hands fiddle with the teaspoon. "I don't know what happened to you to make you contact me." She's avoiding my eyes. Her cheeks turn red. "But I want you to know that I'm happy I can be here for you. And that…” She steals a glance. "And that if you ever need someone—anyone, I will always do my best to be there for you. You already know this, but I… I like you, and you are very important to me, that's why…”

"Makoto-san."

She gasps, finally meeting my gaze. "Yes?"

There really is no easy way to break it down to her. I've already realized that after the numerous times I have rejected her. And that's why I shouldn't have turned to her tonight. As selfish as I am, I still don't like using people to my advantage.

And yet, tonight, I still did. My heater works perfectly fine, but I wasn’t lying about having reached Shiro, and that he won’t be out until eleven tonight. When I scrolled further down my contacts, however, I saw that there is only one person who probably won’t mind moving mountains and crossing oceans for me, and that in the spur of the moment, I asked her if she can accompany me, all the while knowing she can never resist me. How rotten have I become exactly?

I sigh, pinning my eyes on hers so that she won't miss the depth of my words. "I am thankful for your feelings, Makoto-san, but—"

"Stop," she cuts me, trying to smile. "I already know your answer, Yuta-kun. But I'm not giving up. Until the day I see you happy with someone else, I am not giving up." She rises from her seat and collects her bag. "Please remember that." And out she goes into the night.

My gut tells me I should at least walk her to her dorm. She doesn't live far, and as I recall, she doesn't need to pass by dark alleys. I've accompanied her once from university when she needed a hand with some boxes of props for a college play.

But I remain in my seat. I am concerned enough to debate sending her a text, but not to the point of following after her. I've learned my lesson years ago. It doesn't matter what your intentions are—or the utter lack of it—for helping people. The moment you show concern for someone who likes you, she's bound to have her hopes up.

I don't want Makoto to have her hopes up. Again. My despicable behavior tonight should already repel her. Hopefully.

In the end, I walk back to my apartment without so much as a message asking her if she arrived home safely. It should be better for her, too. She deserves someone reliable and honest, someone who can take care of her as much as she takes care of others. I am not that person, and I don’t think I ever will be.

I never should have called her in the first place.

When I go up to my room, I stand before the closet. The mirror is barren except for the sorry ass that is my reflection.

I snort. It was just a hallucination, after all.

"Damn, what a pain."

I sink into bed, forcing my eyes shut and trying to ignore the damage I may have caused tonight. Earlier events creep into my mind, too. Like my recent audition. That complete failure. I try to bury them into my subconscious as well.

As I begin drifting away in slumber, however, I can’t shake off the eerie feeling that someone, or something is hovering nearby and watching my every move.

* * *


	6. Provocation

“Why don’t you just date her?”

“Trust me,” I thrust a can of soda into Shiro’s stomach, “been asking myself the same question for years.”

He grunts, eyeing for the umpteenth time the girl settled by the corner in the coffee shop that I work. I don’t have shifts on Sundays, but a co-worker called in sick and she’s not too wild about leaving this newbie part-timer to tend to the customers all by herself.

“Or just date someone else so she’ll finally leave you alone.”

I  _ have _ considered that. Once or twice I may have possibly liked someone, but not enough to want to go out of my way to ask them out. But I don’t want to sound too lame so I say, “I may like the idea of her chasing after me all these years.”

Shiro laughs, shaking his head and taking a long sip. “You’re an ass.”

I shrug, chugging down my own drink before tossing the empty can into the trash. My fifteen-minute break is nearly over. Then, two more hours before I’m finally off the hook. I could do some walking in this cool golden afternoon.

Shiro has dropped by to pass me a message from our coach. I can tell my friend is trying to sugarcoat the warning, but I know the message is an ultimatum. Join practice or you’re out of the team. Can’t blame the dude. I’m probably their best shot in the upcoming sports meet. But as much as I like football, I can’t see it ever paying for my monthly rent.

“I actually asked her out last term,” Shiro interrupts my thoughts.

I follow his line of sight and again lay eyes on Makoto. Is he talking about her?

“Yeah,” he says, addressing my internal confusion. “But she’s dead set on you.”

I stare at Makoto’s figure, at her dark hair outlining her small face, her slender hands busy turning pages and jotting down notes, her slim form and sophisticated fashion. She is cute and attractive. Smart, too. Not smart enough to let me go but intelligent in her studies.

So why can’t I like her?

“Dumbass.” Shiro’s tin can collides with my forehead, knocking me out of my musings. He chucks the empty soda over to the trash as well. “Don’t suddenly think about weird stuff just because I asked her out once.”

“What weird stuff?” I slip back into my apron.

Shiro preps up to leave. “You’re my friend, Yuta. But Makoto Shiori is a great girl. And I still kinda like her.” He hops into the sidewalk. He doesn’t look back when he waves and says, “So don’t do anything weird.”

I snort, heading back inside. Shiro’s admission can only mean either of two things. First, he really does like her and is giving me a heads up that he might be pursuing her more fervently in the next few weeks. I’ve known him for years and he’s always shared to me about girl matters. I don’t ask him. I never do. But he seems under the impression that I need to be updated with this aspect of his life.

Second, he’s only trying to bait me into finally agreeing to date her. In the years that I’ve been around Makoto, I haven’t heard of a guy openly wooing her. Perhaps because it is public knowledge that she only has her eyes on me. That being said, Shiro might have thought I only need a little push, some sort of challenge maybe, something that would divert Makoto’s attention to someone else, a shift in her feelings, which will eventually push me to realize her importance.

If it’s the first, Shiro can count on my support. I don’t see him as an exceptional guy but he seems good enough to take care of Makoto. If it’s the second though, well, he clearly hasn’t grasped of my indifference. Besides, I don’t like competing for a girl. Too dramatic. And the losing party nearly always has to undergo a shitty moving-on phase. As if my life isn’t already a load of BS.

“Nakamoto Yuta-san?”

I elbow the cash register shut before addressing the customer. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Makoto’s head snapping up to stare at me and the girl before me.

“Hello,” I smile. She’s the girl I’ve met in the practice room, the fellow applicant who auditioned after me. I still don’t know her name. “How may I help you?”

“Sorry,” she chuckles, as if recalling the same memory, “I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself. My name is Chihara Akane. It’s good to see you again, Nakamoto Yuta-san.”

“Just Nakamoto,” I tell her, trying to sound cordial. I wonder how her auditions went. “Good to see you again, too, Chihara-san. What can I get for you this afternoon?”

“You’re so different in casual, Nakamoto-kun.” She tucks strands of hair behind her earlobe. One painted finger taps on her chin as she scans the menu overhead. “I never would have imagined you in a visor cap and apron. What’s your best seller?”

I could have sworn she blinked a gazillion times before looking at me again. Her eyes seem to sparkle. I swallow back a most amused grunt. Unbelievable.

I return her coy smile with a bright, toothy one before handing a note to the barista. Then, sporting the same cheerful grin, I key in her order and gesture for the monitor.

“That would be 460 yen.”

“Did you get me a Grande?” Another tuck of the hair.

“I did.”

She frowns, needlessly pouting. “Why?”

My smile turns apologetic. “Did I get it wrong?”

“No.” She becomes a little panicked. “No, you actually got it right.” Her distraught face smoothens. “Thank you, Nakamoto-kun.”

“My pleasure,” I say, bowing a little. This job is the perfect venue to hone my pretense skills.

She looks over her shoulder, as though checking to see if anyone is queuing after her. When she sees that she’s alone, she faces me again, leans over the counter, and places her lips a little too close to my left ear. I nearly jerk back, but one of her hands is keeping my shoulder down.

“They called me,” she whispers. Her smell is faintly exotic, like flowers from overseas. Across the room, I catch a glimpse of Makoto eyeing daggers at me, or Chihara. Or both. “I start training tomorrow.” She lingers near my face for another five seconds before finally leaning away, excitement brimming in her eyes. “Can you believe it?”

I can only stare back. I don’t know how to react, what to say, what to do. She passed the audition. She’s been accepted.

To rub salt into my wound, she says, “To be honest, I never thought I would make it. It was my first time to ever audition for something. But now I’m gonna train to be an idol. Can you believe it...? Nakamoto-kun?”

It has only been eleven days—I’ve been keeping close count. From what I’ve heard, this company takes at least two months before calling back accepted applicants. Oftentimes longer. But—eleven days?

“Nakamoto-san.” The barista’s hoarse voice gets to me. He points to the cup, then rolls a pen across the counter. “You can write her name for her if you want.”

“What?”

He gestures exasperatedly to the girl opposite me as he retreats to his corner. Only then does Chihara’s anxious face register. As well as Makoto’s agitation. She seems to have teleported. I didn’t see her leave her seat and march up beside Chihara.

“Are you alright, Nakamoto-kun?” Chihara reaches for my hand, but Makoto holds her arm.

“Yuta-kun,” Makoto’s voice comes in soft but demanding. “You shouldn’t force yourself if you’re not feeling well. You don’t normally have shifts on Sundays.”

I sigh, grabbing the Grande cup and uncapping the marker. “I’m all right, Makoto-san. Don’t worry about me.” I smile at Chihara. “How do I write your name?”

“Ah, I prefer Akane, Nakamoto-kun. You know, deep red. Dye most of the time.”

“Okay.” I scribble her name in hiragana. And since I feel I have troubled her unnecessarily, I circle the counter and lead her to a table by the window. I pull her chair for her and settle her drink on the wooden slab, all the while aware of Makoto’s glare from halfway across the room. “I’m happy for you, Chihara-san. Do your best and don’t forget me after you debut, okay?”

Her cheeks flare. “Ah, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, but thank you. You are very kind, Nakamoto-kun.”

I bow one last time and retreat to the counter where Makoto is still standing, her arms crossed.

“You’re overthinking as usual,” I tell her. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’m sorry I interrupted your study.” I’m hinting for her to get back to her table. She doesn’t catch it.

“I’m not studying, Yuta-kun. I’m doing advanced reading while waiting for you.”

Ah, hell. I’m really not in the mood for this. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”

“I know that, but someone has to make sure you get home safe.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” I turn for the cabinets at the back to excuse myself. After hearing Chihara’s news, I don’t think I can last another hour in this damned job. The only thing running in my mind is the likely event that I have failed again. For the fourth time! Shit.

Just then, the clock over the entrance chimes four. Something in me snaps, and I know I need to get away. As hurriedly as I can, I shuffle towards the locker room, strip off my cap and apron, and grab my keys. On the way out, I tap the newbie—who appears to have gone frantic upon my sudden exit—on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t panic. The manager will be here in half an hour.” I wave at a muddled barista and finally head out.

Only to be catapulted back by the scene before me. I should have landed on my butt if not for the coffee machine that I’ve managed to grab to keep my balance.

The employees exit door is not mirrored. Unlike the mirror in the practice room where I auditioned, and the mirror on my closet, the glass door is not mirrored.

Why the hell then is a phantom—the same goddamned phantom from eleven days ago—staring back at me on the surface?

* * *


	7. Persistence

The phantom is a girl. Her image is fainter on the glass reflection, but she is just as pale and languid as the other times I’ve seen her. 

“What the hell do you want from me?”

One of her arms lifts, palm up, like she’s anticipating raindrops to wet her ashen skin. She’s looking right at me. She doesn’t seem furious, so I don’t believe she’s the kind of ghost—as if these creatures really do exist in the first place—who has come back for vengeance. Besides, I don’t even know her.

Not too long, the newbie part-timer shuffles into the exit corridor, one hand clutching her chest. “Are you alright, Nakamoto-san?”

Trying to hide my terror, I straighten my stance and pretend to brush off my pants. The shock seems to have replaced the depression and agitation I was entertaining just moments ago.

It doesn’t seem like the newbie has spotted the phantom, but just to make sure… “Hey, what’s wrong with our door?” The pale girl is still staring, one corner of her lips now bordering a smirk.

The newbie— _ Sasaki _ , I note from her nameplate—places one careful hand on the glass door. She examines it, and then frowns. “Is it broken?” She tests the hinges, swinging the door back and forth.

_ She doesn’t see it! Unbelievable! _

“No, I’m talking about the reflection, Sasaki-san.” I’m beginning to understand why the phantom suddenly appears amused. Damn, she’s enjoying this.

I don’t wait for another dumb response from Sasaki and push open the door. “Never mind, Sasaki-san. Take care until the manager comes.”

“Ah, thanks for today, Nakamoto-san!”

I don’t normally look back when I wave people goodbye, but this encounter with the phantom forces me to. And when I do, I see an anxious girl tripping on her own toes as she hurries back to tend to the customers all by herself.

And the phantom smiling wildly at me as if she has won some battle only she understands.

As I stare at her for another lingering moment, I realize this is no longer just some freaky, random hallucination. I refuse to believe I’m in need of a psychiatrist or some shit, so this girl or ghost or whatever the hell this is must be as real as I allow her to be.

Another half minute passes. The longer I look at her, the less sinister she appears. She could be one of those pale, languid girls I’ve brushed shoulders with in campus, or crossed paths with in between classes. With or without a physical body, she is, in all aspects, human. No weird third eyes, or extra arms and legs, or tentacles, or snake hair.

_ “Nakamoto-san—” _

“Shit!” I stumble a few steps back.

_ “Sorry, did I startle you?” _

Something about the way she talks to me makes me agitated again. I turn on my heels and walk away.

_ “I’ll see you around, Nakamoto-san!” _

Like hell you will.

The clear golden skies do nothing to uplift my mood. The hustle of people going in and out of buildings can’t divert my mind from the news of Chihara's acceptance either.

Did she have connections? Did someone highly recommend her? Did she have to pull some strings just to pass? Or was it pure talent? I don’t know, and I don’t want to. I only know I’m furious at myself. Didn’t she compliment me at rehearsals? Or was she only being modest? Chihara doesn’t seem like the type to deceive people. She might have tried to get my attention earlier—excessively even—but apart from her flirtatious tendencies, I don’t believe she’s a con artist.

Then yet again, nobody seems to have glimpsed at my rotten attitude either. Not even Makoto.

Two blocks later, the road begins to congest with vehicles. I stand behind two high schoolers, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green. At the reminder of school, I do a mental scan of my subjects for the next day. No assignments, but I’ve got two diagnostic tests; one for a minor and the other for a major. Doesn’t matter. I don’t think I can do anything even remotely productive until I get my shit together, which I don’t reckon will happen anytime soon.

A man from behind pushes me forward and only then do I realize that the throng has started moving. I walk along, trying to wedge out. Eight lanes. Damn, I should have stayed at the edges. It won’t take more than two minutes to cross this traffic but if there’s anything I hate at the moment, even more than the multiple failures I’ve endured, it would be to suffocate in a sea of strange, emotionless faces.

As soon as I’ve slithered free from the crowd, I heave in a long breath, too relieved to notice that I’ve paused in the middle of the road and mindlessly propped a hand against the hood of a car. Until a deafening honk jolts me upright.

I turn right to glare at the cocky driver, but the windshield is too darkly tinted to see who’s inside. But that’s the least of my problems now, isn’t it? Because on the reflection is the phantom, waving at me with a ridiculous grin on her lips.

_ “We meet again, Nakamoto-san. What a pleasant surprise!” _

What the actual—

_ Beep! _

I sprint for the sidewalk. The pedestrian light has turned red.

_ “Are you still depressed over your failed auditions?” _

My head snaps left and right to search for the phantom. And then I slap my cheek once.

_ “Ouch.” _

Why the hell am I even looking for her! Damn!

I stomp ahead, making sure to keep my head down.

_ “You know, it’s a bad idea not to look ahead when you’re walking. You might _ —”

The next thing I know, I’m catapulted away. And I don’t just land on my butt. Both my right elbow and my head suffer a pang against concrete. My vision dimming, I automatically curl to one side, seething.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Something heavy lands on my shoulder. A hand maybe. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I groan, trying to salvage my dignity by forcing myself on a decent sitting position. I barely make it. “Just lost my balance there, but I’m fine.” I keep my head down as I wave him off.

“Okay, dude, if you say so.” I feel his presence disappear.

Thank you for not being a lingering pighead. But, god, my head hurts. Hell, I think I’ve cracked my skull.

“Yuta-kun!”

Oh, no.

“Yuta-kun, are you alright?” Soft, slim fingers are suddenly splayed across either side of my face. I don’t have to open my eyes to recognize the girl. “Are you not feeling well after all? I told you not to push yourself. Can you stand?”

Ah, shit, Makoto. Not now, please.

“Yuta-kun?”

“I’m fine.” I heave in another breath, facing away from Makoto and blinking a few times.

_ “What a caring girlfriend you have, Nakamoto-san. I’m jealous.” _

As soon as I’m up on my feet, I read the signage overhead. An office of some sort. Tinted glass. Of course. My peripheral vision shows me the phantom, a strange glint in her expression as she appears to assess me and my frantic companion.

She’s not my girlfriend, I want to say, but as much as I want to turn Makoto off, I don’t really want her to think I’m a lunatic.

“I’ll get a taxi,” Makoto says, hopping towards the edge of the sidewalk to hail one.

“No, Makoto-san.” I grab her wrist and pull her away from the road. “Please, I’m fine. I need to drop by somewhere first.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

“But what if something happens to you?” She takes both of my hands into hers. “Like earlier.”

_ “Pretty girl has a point.” _

Damn, and here I thought Makoto was already a handful.

I squirm away from her hold and twist my right elbow. No damage. I sigh, and then start walking. “I’ll go ahead.”

Makoto steps right in front. “Yuta-kun.”

_ “Ooh, how persistent. Nice.” _

Shut up! “Makoto-san, please.”

_ “Hey, how come she calls you by your first name while you’re being oh so formal?” _

“I’m just worried, Yuta-kun. You’ve been acting strangely the past few days. And you don’t tell me anything.”

“I’ve just got some stuff going on. Nothing serious.”

_ “Don’t believe him. He’s a liar. He’s been depressed. Try harder, Makoto-chan!” _

Damn, this phantom. “I’m leaving.” But Makoto doesn’t budge. She blocks my every step. Sighing for the hundredth time this day, I place my hands on her shoulders, make sure she feels the pressure in my grasps, and bend down to look her straight in the eyes.

_ “Oh my god! Are you going to kiss her?” _

What? My hands twitch. I almost lose my resolve. Before this damned phantom can distract me further, I clear my throat. “I’m leaving,” I tell Makoto in the bleakest voice I can manage. “Please don’t follow me.”

She doesn’t respond. I hold my gaze for another ten seconds before I finally loosen my grip and circle past her.

_ “Well, aren’t you a cold man, Nakamoto-san.” _

“Yuta-kun.”

“What?” I turn around too hastily that I end up swatting away Makoto’s hand unintentionally. The terror in her eyes is hard to miss.

_ “Bad move. She’s gonna cry. I can feel it.” _

“I…” Makoto balls her fists. “I only want to be there for you, Yuta-kun. Is it so bad to want to take care of you?”

_ “Exactly, Nakamoto-san. Oh, the tears are coming. They’re coming! Five seconds, four _ — _ ” _

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

“I want to be alone, Makoto-san. Please understand that.”

_ “So you can sulk and bathe in self-loathing again?” _

My head snaps towards the phantom. She isn’t wearing her usual frolic expression. Something sinister looms around her, heightened by the haughty smirk on her lips, as though she knows what’s going on in my head. But what the hell do you know? About my suffering?

_ “So you can have an excuse for your miserable life when you can actually turn to the people who love you?” _

What the hell do you know!

_ “Or are you perhaps fond of drama, Nakamoto-san?” _

Shut up, dammit!

I raise my head and shut my eyes, breathing low and long.

“Leave me alone,” I say in gritted teeth.

_ “No can do.” _

“Yuta-kun?”

“I said leave me alone.”

_ “You’ve done it now. Congratulations, Nakamoto-san, you’ve made her cry.” _

True enough, when I lower my gaze, Makoto’s eyes are filled with tears, brimming over in cascades down her flushed cheeks. She tries to smile, but the effort only creases her brows and pushes more tears to overflow. She takes one step back, bows a little, and finally runs away.

Beside me on the tinted glass whistles the phantom. And then she raises her hands and claps three times. She returns my furious gaze with a taunting one.

_ “Bravo.” _

* * *


	8. Leap

When I return home to an empty fridge for the third night since I drove Makoto off, I contemplate doing some grocery. I’m not the most diligent guy when it comes to food preparation, but even I know there’s a limit to all the ramen I’ve been stuffing down my throat lately.

I grab the first jacket I see by the peg and head out. There’s not much I need to buy, but for all reasons valid, I march towards a huge supermarket four blocks east. When I enter, I head straight for the meat section. I pass by a few couples pushing together a single trolley, a kid or two mindlessly trailing behind. Groups of giddy high school girls hop from isle to isle. They seem engrossed in plotting ways to confess to the persons they like during their upcoming school trip. Which suddenly brings me back to my last school trip in high school. Two girls from the other classes had called for me after lights out to confess; one girl each night in our three-days-and-two-nights in Kyoto. Unsurprisingly, Makoto went a little ballistic once she’d heard of it. She only calmed down when I told her I’d turned both girls down. And then, the hopeless girl that she was, she’d confessed to me again once we’d returned to campus and the rest of our classmates had dispersed. I had to turn her down yet again.

A pack of Yakult slips from my hold when I slide the freezer door close, waking me from my strange recollection. Around me the buzz of conversation remains, but I can’t help noticing the silence.

 _Her_ silence.

Not that I’m searching for her, but I’ve gotten so used to her incessant side comments everywhere I go that I’ve finally come to accept her existence. Perhaps she’s fed up with my belligerence that she finally gave up and left. Or has my hallucination finally ceased?

_“I think you’re going to need a basket for the goodies.”_

Or not.

I sigh, walking back towards the entrance to haul a small cart where I drop the groceries.

_”Hey, you actually listened for once.”_

I was going to get one eventually—I bite down my tongue to keep from verbally responding. Besides, this is a cart, not a basket—not that it even matters.

_“Ah! There’s a flash sale on rice and vegetables in the next ten minutes.”_

Wonder how long I’m going to stock up for…

_“Check out the signboard, Nakamoto-san. Flash sale Wednesdays at six. Would be a waste if we don’t wait for it, huh.”_

What the hell— _we_ ? I haven’t even bothered to check which reflective surface she’s in. What makes her think this is something _we_ share? What makes her think I’m even interested in flash sales? They’re a pain in the ass, much like our local version of The Hunger Games.

After the meat and probiotics, I just pick up whichever vegetable I lay my eyes on and dump them into the cart. Then I hurry towards the counter. If indeed there’s going to be a flash sale, I better get my ass outta here before the crowd gets hysterical.

On the way out, however, a street stall catches my attention. The smell of meat and seafood and veggies concocted into the perfect _takoyaki_ makes my mouth water. And so I end up buying more than I should and even order a few more for take home.

_“You are surprisingly spontaneous, Nakamoto-san.”_

The phantom is leaning by the frame of the full body mirror attached to the wall in my apartment. The only separate quarters in here is my room, which is where the toilet and bathroom are. The rest is just open space really, with one _kotatsu_ positioned near the kitchen. Basically, the kitchen and dining area and living room are one and the same, making that one mirror difficult to ignore. And to be honest, I don’t think covering the mirror will stop the phantom from blabbing, so I just let her be.

 _“The other day, too. I was fairly certain you were gonna order a full bento meal, but then you turned for the convenience store and got ramen again.”_ She laughs, tapping her chin thoughtfully. _“And now after you’ve shopped for real food, you stuff yourself with takoyaki instead. Aren’t you gonna get hungry before morning?”_

Why the hell should she care?

Holding onto the last string of my sanity, I deposit all of the groceries inside the fridge. Then I settle the box of _takoyaki_ carefully on the table.

_“Heh? You’re gonna finish all of that, too?”_

I don't know why it bothers me to eat by myself with a girl watching. I don't know why it bothers me even more that I'm unable to invite her over. I only know that it annoys me, which is why I’ve been eating my meals in bed recently. I’ve repositioned my closet so that its mirrored door is facing away from my bed. I find eating cross-legged on a comfy mattress a little more relaxing as well—more like a lame-ass attempt, really, at keeping my guilt at bay.

But I’m not in the mood to eat in bed at the moment. I don’t have anything to review on either so I can pretend to be concentrating on something else while eating.

Gah! Who cares! It’s her fault for being a mere reflection.

_“Are you not gonna talk to Makoto-chan?”_

“No.” I sink into the futon and start attacking my food. No point getting worked up over the impossibility of inviting this phantom to eat when she’s not even hesitating to get on my nerves. “Mind your own business.”

_”But your business is exactly why I’m here in the first place.”_

I nearly choke on my next bite. So is she finally going to talk about why she’s been pestering me all this time? I gulp down globs of water.

“The hell are you talking about?” It’s the first time since Sunday that I take a good look at her. She’s still in a white dress, though her long locks are now braided to the side. Barefoot, she still looks like she’s floating. Hell, she can do ten somersaults in the mirror and it won’t even shock me anymore.

Her passive, pale face brightens up at my question, a grin beginning to form.

_“Oh? What’s this, do I finally have your attention now?”_

“I just want you to disappear and go back to wherever the hell you’ve come from.”

She laughs, her tiny shoulders shaking a little. _“That’s funny. I’m wishing for the exact same thing.”_

The _takoyaki_ ball I'm about to devour hangs in mid-air. Then I feel my brows slowly knit together as I settle the food back into the box. Is she trying to tell me she doesn’t want to be here, too? That the situation she’s in is as infuriating to her as it is for me?

_“Don’t look so stunned, Nakamoto-san. Becoming like this may not have been my choice, but being with you has always been out of my own free will.”_

My vision somehow dims. For a fleeting moment, I see the world spin. Spots of black fill my eyes. And then, as quickly as it has come, the odd sensation is gone.

_“Nakamoto-san? Hey, Nakamoto-san?”_

I shake my head and blink a few times.

_“Are you finally alright?”_

“What the hell was that just now? Did you do that?”

But the phantom looks as horrified as I probably do. She glances over my head, too fast I could be imagining it. She appears to be flipping something in her mind. And then her expression smoothens.

 _“As I thought, I can’t even tell you how I came to be.”_ She starts laughing this time, a little too loudly even for her. She raises one palm to press her entire forehead, all the while shaking her head. _“Such a pain.”_

I mean to ask her if she’s fine—I don’t even know where the concern comes from—but I manage to revise my words before they are out of my mouth. “What is it?”

Still in chuckles, she says, _“Look at the time, Nakamoto-san. But please don’t freak out.”_

I do a double take. I've forgotten to wear my watch so I’d have to rely on the wall clock, which is at my back and out of the mirror’s range. I don’t want to look away from the phantom. I imagine her transforming into some kind of horrific monster while I check the time.

She sighs. _“It’s eleven o’clock, Nakamoto-san.”_

Eleven—what? My neck snaps around for the wall clock. True enough, the shorter hand is now pointed towards the digits 11, while the long hand has just ticked past the digits 12. You’ve gotta be shitting me.

_“No, your clock’s not broken, but yes, time just fast-forwarded five hours—for you at least. Was watching you and your blank face the entire time.”_

And then slowly, I can feel my lower back burning. A numbness in my legs begins to throb, and my shoulders feel stiff and sore. _No way in hell._ I haul out my phone from my jacket pocket and check the time as well. The numbers 11:03 stare back at me like a triumphant clown. _What the hell!_

_“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do that again. Sorry.”_

I glare at the phantom. “Do what?”

_“Endanger you.”_

“What the hell are you even talking about, dammit!” I slam the table with my fists, causing the chopsticks to roll towards the middle of the table. Looking down at my unfinished dinner, a thought pierces my mind. Slowly, I place a finger on one of the _takoyaki_ balls. Too cold.

_“You can still eat them. They’re not spoiled. Yet.”_

Ah, shit. This is giving me a headache. As I am about to throw another fit, something stops me. It’s been two weeks since this damned phantom showed up. And now time just leapt— _it actually seriously just leapt_ —a few hours. This just won't do anymore. Whatever the hell she’s here for, I need to hear it. That’s probably the fastest way—the _only_ way—I can get rid of her.

I heave in deep breaths, calming my nerves. I replace the top cover of the _takoyaki_ and push aside the box. My lids roll down, still aimed at perfect composure. My shoulders relax. And then, arranging my arms atop the table, I open my eyes and fix my gaze on the mirror. At her expectant face.

I swallow a few times before I finally open my mouth. “Tell me.”

The phantom smiles, crossing her arms as well. _“As you wish, Nakamoto-san.”_ Her gaze is fixated on me as well, hard and determined, with only a light trace of the usual frolic underneath. _“My name is Hotaru Kazumi. And I’m here to love you.”_

* * *

_Chapter Notes:_

_takoyaki – a ball-shaped Japanese snack made of a wheat flour-based batter, typically filled with minced or diced octopus, tempura scraps, pickled ginger, and green onion_

_kotatsu – a low, wooden table frame covered by a futon, or heavy blanket, upon which a table top sits and where underneath is a heat source_


	9. Decision

Three things are being forced onto me by the incredibly willful lady that is Makoto Shiori.

One: I am to date her until the day I either finally fall for her or find someone I want to seriously go out with. She terms it ‘date’ because she wants it to encompass all the specifics of dating. In other words, we will be dining out regularly, seeing movies regularly, hanging out regularly—basically, spending time and involving ourselves with each other as much as we possibly can.

Two: I am to give up my part-time, which follows that I’ll have to give up my apartment as well, because I won’t have anything to pay for it anymore. Before I can protest about having to go home a couple of stations away, she tells me I won’t have to worry about the distance or time, because she, too, will move out of her dorm so she can take the train with me every day. I forget we come from the same town. She goes on to add that my parents won’t make so much of a fuss about it since she—my supposed girlfriend—will be with me.

Three: I am to confide in her about everything just as she will confide in me. She doesn’t elaborate much on this and just leaves it to my own interpretation.

She doesn’t give me the chance to respond—yet. She tells me I have three days to think about it, and then scurries off to her class. What a totally sneaky girl.

Surprisingly enough, that  _ mushi _ hasn’t made a single comment about Makoto’s offer. Not on the first day. Not on the second day as well.

“So what do you think?” I finally ask her as I open a bento meal I’ve reheated. It has been three days.

Hotaru Kazumi is lazing by the full body mirror, her deft fingers in the middle of braiding her hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen her sitting sideways, which makes the hem of her dress graze slightly higher up her thighs. And for a few disturbing seconds, my eyes are pinned on her bare feet, so slender and milky and—there is a lump in my throat as I think this—sexy.

_ “About what?” _

I clear my throat. “About Makoto’s offer.”

_ “So you’ve dropped the honorific now, huh?”  _ She grunts.  _ “I guess you can proceed to calling her by her first name once you officially start dating.” _

“No, I…" I don’t particularly address anyone with honorifics in my mind to begin with, unless family.

She laughs.  _ “I’m only teasing, Nakamoto-san. You’re so easy to read.” _ She arranges the braid on one side and finally faces me, smiling sweetly.  _ ”I bet you don’t even address me by my name mentally, do you?” _

Straight towards the bull’s eye—until just so recently.

“Shut up.”

_ “Hai, hai.” _

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Her smile twists into something between hopeful and wistful.  _ “You should date her.” _

I process that for a minute. Coming from an entity which may just be a figment of my imagination, and the same entity who says she exists with the sole purpose of loving me, I find her statement quite contradictory.

“Why?”

_ “Why?”  _ She repeats my question in a slightly mocking way.  _ “Because admit it, Nakamoto-san, you’ve been considering it for a while now, haven’t you? Why wait?” _ She weaves her fingers together. They are milky and slender, flawless and radiant. Unreal. Her entire body seems a little too skinny, but not uncomfortable to the eyes. The more I study her, the more she resembles a mannequin who’s been brought to life. 

“Do you eat?”

The question is uncalled for, not to mention prying, because it means I have been thinking about her welfare. And if I’ve been thinking about her welfare, it means I have come to actually care for her.

_ “You’re not being fair, Nakamoto-san.” _ She rises to her height and points a finger at me, like an adult admonishing a child.  _ “You’re thinking about dating Makoto-chan but you’re flirting with someone else.” _

“Shut up, it just crossed my mind.” I focus on my meal—just an excuse really, to escape her judging eyes. “And whether or not I’m flirting with you is not relevant. I mean, you’re not even real.”

_ “Ah, and that’s where you’re mistaken, Nakamoto-san.” _ There isn’t a trace of joshing in her voice, though she doesn’t sound affronted either.  _ “I’m as real as any other person. Just simply lost at the moment.” _

I scoff at that. “Aren’t we all?”

We share a few moments of silence before I spare her a glance. Her eyes are lost in space. She is immersed in some private thought, her arms swaying lifelessly by her sides and her teeth nibbling down her lower lip. She looks more muddled than lost. And then for a fleeting moment, her gaze hardens and her face contorts in repressed pain, as if a knife is being thrust and twisted into her heart.

It happens so fast, I would have dismissed it completely—except she actually places a hand over her chest, breathes in and out thrice, before sighing in relief. When she meets my gaze, she offers me the loveliest smile I have ever seen.

But I’m not about to get distracted. I narrow my frown.

“What the hell was that?”

_ “Um,”  _ she looks up at an imaginary cloud,  _ “my smile?” _

“Don’t change the subject, you idiot.” I drop my chopsticks and give her my undivided attention. “What the hell was that? Are you having chest pains?”

_ “For someone who doesn’t even believe I’m real, Nakamoto-san, you sound awfully concerned.” _ She rolls her eyes as she leans against the frame of the mirror.

“Didn’t you just say you’re as real as any other person?”

_ “Can we go back to talking about your relationship with Makoto-chan? You’re frightening when you’re concerned.” _

“I’m not—“

I bite on my tongue to keep from fuming. She’s right; I’m being unnecessarily concerned. And of all the things that should concern me, her physical welfare—a mere reflection’s physical welfare—shouldn’t even cross my mind.

And Makoto Shiori. I’m meeting her later after my part-time. More to the point, as per her instruction, I’m supposed to fetch her from her evening classes right after my shift, like a goddamned boyfriend already. 

In the end, the  _ mushi  _ is right. I should date Makoto. Like I should have years ago. But then, of course, with this entity present, I have to get one thing straight.

I debate between calling her  _ mushi _ and  _ konchuu _ . I realize I’ve never actually addressed her beyond the rude ‘ _ yo _ ’ and ‘ _ oi _ ’. Ah, shit. Whatever.

“Hotaru Kazumi-san.”

Guess I’m not surprised she grins at me as her name escapes my lips for the very first time. Well, she must realize I’m being serious.

_ "Just Hotaru. Though I wouldn't mind Kazumi either, if you wanna get intimate, I mean." _ She raises a palm before I can protest.  _ "Kazu-chin sounds really cute, too, don't you think?" _

"Hotaru-san," I insist. My voice is surprisingly steady despite her taunting.

_ "Yes, Nakamoto-san?” _

“Will you still be around once I date Makoto?”

Her grin turns sinister, and she even has the nerve to wink at me as she says,  _ “Every freakin second.” _

* * *

_ Notes: _

_ konchuu – another Japanese term for bug _

* * *


	10. Reminder

What exactly is the point of me dating when I can’t even kiss Makoto without feeling stupidly awkward? No, I’m not in love with her, and probably not anytime soon. But as her boyfriend—for a couple of months now, too—I know she expects me to initiate some form of physical affection.

Holding hands is fine. We’ve progressed to that as soon as I met her after her evening classes and told her it was my duty to fetch her from then on seeing as I was already her boyfriend. She didn’t believe me for an entire ten minutes, until we arrived at her doorstep and she gave me a satisfying hug before she skipped inside in happy spirits.

I don’t mind her linking arms with me either. Or when she ogles a bit too long at my face, perhaps still in disbelief with the development of our relationship. I’ve also learned to ignore the curious stares of the people around us especially during our train ride home. (We’ve moved back to town the week after we got together, just as planned.) Makoto is a beauty, all right. She has always been a head-turner. Maybe having a boyfriend who doesn’t fare so badly in the  _ ikemen _ scale stirs up public interest?

_ “You’re like the dream couple starring in some elite high school drama where everyone else just envies you. An enlivened hana yori dango.” _

I had shrugged off Hotaru’s side comment then, only to realize later on that she must be right. It was the only logical explanation.

And speaking of that  _ mushi _ , she is the sole reason for all this awkwardness I can’t seem to shake off whenever I’m with Makoto. Picture this: Makoto snuggles into my arms as we watch a movie in her living room one quiet Saturday evening when her parents are conveniently overseas. I am about to return her gesture when Hotaru—a gleaming smirk slicing across her pale lips—suddenly appears on the humongous mirror stretching across the entire wall behind the TV.

She doesn’t even have the remorse to feel sorry for having intruded on us—or on me, to be specific. To top it all, she can afford to roll her eyes when she senses my hesitation to cuddle with Makoto. And then of course I can’t retaliate, or drive her away.

One time when I walked Makoto to her house and she pulled me in for a kiss, I would have returned it with as much fervor. But two seconds later, that annoying insect of a nuisance waved at me from the glass windows and I had jerked back in shock. And then she teased me all throughout that night because Makoto looked so embarrassed as she apologized for her behavior and retreated to her house. I had to call her later that evening to tell her I should be the one apologizing instead.

The worst of all was when I had become tipsy when Makoto and I were hanging out with our childhood friends in a bar. Sometime in the middle of chatting, Makoto excused herself for some fresh air and when I followed her out towards the back, she pulled me in for a hug. And perhaps owing to a slightly addled brain I actually pushed her back against the wall and started kissing her. She was just beginning to return the kiss when a voice, so dangerously soft, jolted me out of my frenzy and knocked off every drop of liquor from my system. I pulled back from a very flushed and confused Makoto to find Hotaru wiggling her brows on the glass enclosure of a fire extinguisher just a little overhead.

_ “At the rate you’re going, Nakamoto-san, you’re gonna have to get a bloody room.” _

From then on I have stopped trying to initiate anything even remotely physical towards Makoto. But that doesn’t mean Hotaru has stopped barging into every minute of my time together with my girlfriend—or with anybody else for that matter. To think she was the one who encouraged me to date Makoto. What kind of stupid shit is she playing at?

“Enough of this,” I finally tell her on Sunday morning when I am alone in my room and my family has gone off for some barbecue at the beach.

_ “You’re finally home after nearly a year, Nakamoto-san. You should spend more time with your family.” _

“I’m going,” after a moment’s hesitation, I add, “in a while.” I put up a palm to hush her from answering. “Spare me your concern and don’t change the topic.”

Hotaru, flaunting a white sleeveless dress with a pale blue ribbon around the waist, straightens her spine and gives me her undivided attention. Her locks are untied, flowing around her shoulders in their jet-black natural waves. Her eyes are looking stern. The full body mirror beside my closet gives her the illusion of hovering aboveground.

I return her gaze. “What the hell are you doing?”

_ “What are you even talking about?” _

“Makoto, you idiot.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Why can’t you leave us alone?”

_ “Ah, Nakamoto-san, I know what you’re thinking, but no, I’m not trying to pull you both apart.” _ She shakes her head in what I reckon is amusement. _ “You’re thinking I might be jealous since the purpose of my existence is to love you. Well, I’m not.” _

Her candor unnerves me. I  _ have _ suspected jealousy, but this is a goddamned reflection we’re talking about. Even if she is indeed jealous, I can’t really do anything about it. There’s no way I’m ever gonna date a mere reflection. God forbid, not even to save my life.

_ “It’s not like I enjoy intruding on you—okay, wait, let me be completely honest and tell you that you are truly entertaining—” _

“Shut the hell up!”

_ “Sorry, sorry.” _ She waves her hands dismissively, swallowing her chuckles.  _ “What I’m trying to say is, if only I could, I would leave the two of you alone. But I can’t, okay?” _

“Why not—?”

_ “And there I’ll stop because I refuse to endanger you again.” _

“You’re not making any sense!” I press the space between my brows and pace my room. “Do you even know where you come from? Are you ever going to cease being a mere reflection?”

_ “Not gonna answer that,” _ she says with a fond grin. And then she skips in place.  _ “Are you gonna bring Makoto-chan to the beach later?” _

“What?”

_ “Um, Makoto-chan? The girlfriend?” _ She rolls her lazy eyes.  _ “Is the boyfriend gonna bring the girlfriend to his family by the beach?” _

On that thought, I turn to my closet and grab some clothes in case the sea tempts me too much. I haven’t invited Makoto yet, but she’s usually free on weekends so it shouldn’t be a problem.

_ “Nakamoto-san.” _

I’m still digging into my piles of neatly folded shirts as I demand a curt, “What?” When she doesn’t answer, I stuff my things in a knapsack and face her at last. The frolic in her eyes is gone. She doesn’t look menacing either. She’s just… well, for once, she actually appears like she’s genuinely concerned about me. I narrow my gaze.

“What is it?”

_ “Aren’t you forgetting something, Nakamoto-san?” _

“What?” I half expect her to joke about underwear or some shit like she usually does. But she only maintains her grave demeanor.

_ “I’m glad you seem to be in a better mood with Makoto-chan. And with your family around. I really am. But you’ve also started to ignore the most important matter in your life.” _ It’s her turn to cross her arms over her chest.  _ “Tell me, have you lost your balls ever since that other applicant told you she’s been accepted to train as an idol?” _

Like a train nose-diving from a broken trail track and into a cliff, I stagger back. Her words leave an acrid taste on my tongue. A knife is wrenched down my chest and the ground seems to have swallowed me whole. Why the hell is she bringing that up now? Quickly collecting myself, I harden my gaze and stand tall. 

_ “Have you completely given up on your dream?” _

“Shut up, I don’t wanna talk about it.” I storm out of my quarters and cross the living room in long strides.

_ “Why not?” _

“Drop it, idiot.”

_ “Why are you such a coward?” _

“And why are you such a nuisance?” I don’t bother searching for her as I step out the front door. “And stay out of my life.”

_ “Can’t do that.” _ She sways by the tinted windshield of my sister’s car parked by the lawn. I realize, with fondness, that Momoka must have left it for me to ride once I decide to join them. That, or she may have found  _ oto-san’s _ more roomy for the cutlery and refreshments. But my pleasant train of thoughts is interrupted when I sense Hotaru tailing me as I cover the short distance towards Makoto’s house.

_ “I’m serious, Nakamoto-san.” _

Ever since I introduced Makoto to my family nearly a month ago—as my girlfriend this time; they’ve known her since childhood—I haven’t brought her over again. Sharing barbecue with them should be a fine idea.

_ “I’ve seen that Chihara girl’s auditions as well, and it’s not like she was better than you? Shouldn’t you give it another shot?” _

I wonder if Makoto is the type to wear revealing outfits when she hangs out by the beach. She already looks dashing in her daily choice of fashion.

_ “Just check your email already, will you!” _

“They call back on potential trainees, you stupid  _ mushi _ .” I glance right to her flabbergasted expression on a closed petshop’s tinted glass wall. “They reserve emails for those who didn’t make it.”

_ “Exactly!” _

I gape at the reflection. That train crashing down to its demise awhile ago? Picture me at the bottom of the cliff and unable to escape the exact spot of the wreckage. Is she for  _ real _ ?

_ “They haven’t called you when they’ve apparently already accepted applicants from the same audition day as you. So why not check your email and face reality already?” _

“You’re crazy.”

_ “Oh, the idea of me being a reflection might be, but not what I’m telling you right now. And I’m telling you to check your email so you can finally accept your failure and put it behind you.” _

“What makes you think I’d be able to move on from another goddamned rejection?”

_ “I don’t, Nakamoto-san. But we won’t ever know until you make that dreaded first step.” _

She’s right. Annoyingly so. I’ve pointedly avoided even thinking about it. But who am I kidding? I’m gonna have to face it eventually whether I like it or not. My passion will just consume me again and the sooner I deal with this… failure, the better it should be for my future endeavors. I know this and yet somehow, I can’t accept it either.

When I look into Hotaru’s eyes, I am met with the overflowing sincerity of her regard that I can’t help a knot form in my chest. Is this why she has been trying to get my attention? Why she seems to be interrupting me? Even more so lately?

I stare her down, hoping to scoop more out of her. She only snorts, offhandedly. 

_ “Don’t look so shocked, Nakamoto-san.” _ She smiles this time, looking dreamy.  _ “I told you, right? I’m here to love you.” _

* * *

_ Notes: _

_ ikemen – derived from the Japanese words ikeru or iketeru (meaning cool, good, and exciting) and menzu (meaning men); popular term to reference good-looking men _

_ hana yori dango – famous manga adapted into a TV series _

_ oto-san – father _

* * *


End file.
